Ida felt for her uncle. She couldn’t imagine what he felt day to day, knowing that he couldn’t stop the death of his own son.
“So now ye know,” he finished. “I will never give in tae a Wallace and I willna let ye be moved by the new laird either.”
“But Ian isna his da,” Ida argued, deciding that she would still try to appeal to her uncle. “He wants peace.”
He snorted. “Peace? Do ye really think that any Scot wants peace, Ida? We are raised tae be bloodthirsty from the day we come out of our ma’s womb! We live for the battle, for the blood, for the conquering!”
“Nay,” she fought back. “Tis how ye want tae imagine that everyone is like, uncle, but not everyone wants tae watch their fellow clansman litter a battlefield!” This went beyond what Ian wanted and more about what Ida wanted now. She didn’t want to watch the wailing women of the clan having to suffer any longer.
Her uncle pushed away from the table and rose, shoving a hand through his unkempt hair. “Tis ye who is living in some sort of dream life, Ida. Ye ask any Scot, any of them, and they would take the sword over peace any day.”
Ida rose as well, pressing her hands against the scarred table. “Ye are looking at one who doesna.” She didn’t care if she was one of the few.
“Then ye are a fool,” he muttered, giving her an eye.
Ida swallowed. “Perhaps but I’m not going tae blame the Wallace clan for wot our clan was willing tae do.” The MacGregor clan hadn’t been forced on the battlefield with their hands tied behind their backs. “Ye canna tell mah that isna the truth.”
Uncle stared at her for a moment before he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Alright lass. Ye are telling the truth. We marched into that war just as they had.”
“Then stop it now,” she begged. “Go appeal tae yer brother tae listen to Ian. He’s a good Scot, a fine man who only wishes tae do wot is best for his clan. Wot is wrong with that?”
“Are ye going tae accept his hand then?”
Ida’s throat worked. “I dinna know.” She still couldn’t get around leaving her uncle behind, especially when he couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself.
“Do ye have feelings for him lass?”
“Aye,” she forced out, wishing she could tell him differently. It was even more apparent to her now than ever that she did care for Ian and if it wasn’t so late in the evening, Ida would be seeking him out and letting him know. In the morn, she promised herself, she would go to him and tell her of her plight. They could find a way, a means to be together. Ida was certain of it.
He swore under his breath but there was no anger reflected in his eyes any longer and Ida felt the surge of hope. “Ye canna help who ye love then,” he finally said. “Even if it is a Wallace.”
Ida’s breath caught in her throat. Was he giving her his blessing? “Aye ye canna.”
Uncle reached across the table and grasped her hand, a smile on his weathered face. “Wotever ye decide lass, ye dinna need tae worry aboot mah.” He sighed. “Perhaps tis time for mah tae take a look at mah life as well. I’ve wallowed in my grief and self-pity for far too long.”
“Och uncle,” Ida whispered, tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes. “Ye were in pain.”
He chuckled, releasing her hand. “Aye but there are better ways of dealing with that pain than the path I have chosen. I canna guarantee ye I will be right tomorrow or the next day, but I’m telling ye I can try.”
That was all she wished to hear. It had been her fondest wish to hear him want to continue to live on, to be the uncle that she knew he could be. “Then tis enough.”
After the fire was banked and both of them were tucked in their small beds, Ida stared into the dark, a gentle smile on her face. Tomorrow she would find Ian and tell him how she felt. It would be up to him to make a decision regarding his own future, but at least she wouldn’t be hiding behind her duty to her uncle. While she knew her uncle’s healing wouldn’t happen immediately, he was going to be fine in the end and that was all that mattered to her.
For the first time in a long while, Ida was able to fall into a dreamless sleep with a smile on her face.
19
Ian tossed and turned against his pillow, his sleep interrupted by someone ringing the bells at the top of the keep. Cracking an eye open, he wanted to pull out his sword and run the Scot through for thinking it was a wise decision in the middle of the night.
But it was only a scant second before Ian smelled smoke and that got him out of the warm bed and reaching for his tunic and breeks. The bells were used for all sorts of warning for the village townspeople, from raids to fires and if there was truly a fire in this crowded village, it could be disastrous.
Ian grabbed a short dagger and shoved it in his boot before he threw his door open and raced down the two flights of stairs to the great hall, where he was joined by others. “Wot is happening?” Remy asked, sleep still evident on his face as he found Ian.
“I smelled smoke,” Ian said tightly, moving with the rest of the people in the great hall toward the heavy doors.
Remy swore under his breath, but Ian was already stepping outside into the cold night air. Whatever was on fire, the MacGregors were going to need the extra hands to help.
When he looked up, ice slid through his veins.
